Settle Into Disorder
by Madame Aramus
Summary: “The idea of… of ‘us,’ like this, was purely hypothetical! It stayed safely in our peripheral vision for years! This was never supposed to actually happen!” A Dasey aftermath story of when ‘what if?’ becomes ‘what now?’
1. Prologue One

_**Disclaimer: **__Oh, this old thing? Why, it's a genuine Gross Misuse of Characters that Don't Belong to Me. It was a bargain, really. Didn't cost me a thing._

… _Don't sue._

_**A/N: **__God, Max is vile. Clearly, we're __meant__ to ship Dasey. Anyway! Mature language and subject matter ahead, folks - please pay attention to the rating. This is __**not**__ an explicit fic (no smut), but I'll cop to a little raciness here and there. And that's all I'm going to say about that._

…………………

_**Prologue One **_

…………………

"_Seems time never can stay_

_Just keeps running away _

… _hearts cry leaving nothing left to say"_

_- beat&path_

She finds herself caught in his room while he packs his things, terminal procrastinator, the same day he's supposed to be leaving. He's in no apparent rush, slowly stuffing clothes and cds into an old hockey duffel bag, lazily rifling through his drawers. Casey has been fully packed for a month now, partially living out of her suitcases, even. She doesn't, and never will, understand this… _ease _of his, the way he never seems to worry, the way deadlines creep up on him and he just breezes through them all half-assed and uncaring. Loose limbs, and relaxed countenance. Half smiles and purposeless ambling. Messy, perfect, hair.

She sighs. _Bad Religion _is blaring – _"The new stuff," he tells her, grinning, "Some of their older albums would literally kill you, so consider yourself lucky I'm blasting __this__ instead." _– and the open window invites late August inside. She feels tired and overwhelmed, loud music pressing in on her senses, the smell of him – minty shampoo, sporty cologne, fabric softener – settling around her while she sinks into his bed.

"_Tell me!" _the stereo shouts, _"Tell me, where is the lo-ove?"_

She smirks, slightly. His ceiling stares back at her from where she's sprawled, playing with loose hair, wishing he'd put on one of his softer indie cds, or just come sit down next to her and say something sweet, something _real _for once. Thinking that she won't see him in the morning like she always does. Hoping she won't miss him when they're gone, knowing that she will.

A pause between songs shifts her attention towards her stepbrother, his back – skinny and lean-muscled – facing her, hair curling around the collar of his shirt. Then, music again. Still loud, but she's become acclimated to the environment, even finds her head bobbing a bit, and suddenly his scent is _everywhere. _Because he's just dumped a pile of dirty laundry on her face. A familiar glare slides onto her features, she feels them contorting just so, and she sits up to aim it at him.

"Wash those for me, will ya Case?" he's already turned around again, "I need to have them packed by seven-ish."

"Oh sure, Derek, I'll wash your disgusting clothes for you," she snaps sarcastically, "Should I iron and press them too?"

"That'd be great, _sis. _And make sure to use the _Gain _detergent – it smells good."

"Don't call me sis," she's suddenly angry and she doesn't really know why, "And don't try to pawn your work off on me. It's not my fault you left all your packing to the last minute."

He finally turns to look at her and his expression is mildly aggravated. He's nowhere near fuming the way she is, but he's tense and displeased.

"If you're not going to say whatever the hell it is you came in here to say, then you could at least make yourself _useful_."

She can't help but notice, as she watches his eyes for pupil dilation (a habit she's taken to since she's begun to recognize an underlying current to their frequent arguments) that the distance between them is getting shorter. And things are starting to make sense to her. About him, and about herself, and all the fights they've had and will have. His space, and her space, and their space. And what she _really _wants to talk about instead of everything she knows she's going to say.

He saved a dance for her at the after-grad "prom." It wasn't weird, like she'd thought – hoped – it would be. They just put a few things away for a 3 minute not-really-slow, but not fast enough song and danced with only their hands connected. He'd pushed her around, and spun her beneath his arm, and they'd laughed a little bit, and Emily had taken a picture so Nora and George could see that their kids weren't _always _at complete odds. They gave them the picture yesterday, at dinner, the last one where they'd all be together for awhile. It was a symbol, or something. It made Casey's mom cry in a good way.

Derek had gotten a little drunk later on, but their curfew had been extended to allow them to stay out as long as they wanted. Their first taste of real freedom, of the things to come when they go away to University. She wound up driving him home, because she's still the responsible one, and he'd fallen asleep with his head on her shoulder. Her pulse fluttered in a way she couldn't ignore when it was dark and quiet, couldn't pass off as adrenaline. He roused shortly to walk with the assistance of her shoulder to his room, and patted her cheek, ever-so-slightly before passing out.

She thinks of denial, the unhealthiness of living with it, the impossibility of change. She can't confront all the issues between them completely. They'll never be able to get to a place where they won't argue, where they'll speak to each other with something resembling affection. Because they're not brother and sister, and they're not friends. They could be something different, but they'll have to be nothing at all.

She picks up his laundry anyway, putting it in the basket he's supposed to use instead of tossing it on the floor like he does. Her hair grazes his arm as she bends past him to retrieve an errant sock, and she's blushing for every wrong reason.

"I wanted to tell you," she pushes herself into some façade of normal and faces him boldly, "that I just might miss you while you're gone, Derek. Maybe. And, um, you know… it hasn't really all been so terrible, has it?"

He smirks, slightly, throws another sock into the basket. 

"Maybe not."

Just two words. Just a tiny smile. But she's dropping the basket between them and throwing her arms around him, following some reckless impulse that doesn't care that he doesn't "do" hugs, or that she's feeling things she can't understand. He stiffens on contact, but then surprises her by running his hand up her back, just one, and burying his face in her hair. She sighs, just a little, into his neck and they're close and won't pull away, and it feels like they're comforting each other. They've never embraced before.

This is it, though. Everything they can't do, or say, the loss, the feelings, the goodbye, the moving on. It's all realized, and confronted, and dealt with right here, and Casey knows that when she lets go, everything will fall into the past for good, and life will go on.

It takes thirty seconds or so for her to be ready for that, and another twenty for Derek to let her pull away. And then she meets his eyes, briefly, smiles a little, feels like crying because he looks perfectly serious and not smug, or annoyed, or arrogantly infuriating in that typical Derek Venturi way. He's just still and silent, and she knows all at once that they've come to a conclusion that's, for once, exactly the same. They're finally in perfect agreement, and it hurts a little bit, but she knows she's not far gone enough that she can't get over it – _him._

So she kneels to recollect his laundry and takes it with her when she leaves the room without a backward glance.

When they see each other again at Christmas, she'll pick a fight.

…………………

_**A/N: **__The Bad Religion song is "God's Love."_


	2. Prologue Two

…………………

_**Prologue Two **_

…………………

"_I needed you more  
when we wanted us less  
Could not kiss, just regress." _

_- Bush_

He finds it somewhat ridiculous that he's getting married, which probably isn't the best attitude to have on his wedding day. He'd feel guilty if he _did _guilt, but he tries not to and, also, his attitude is _always_ inappropriate for any occasion, even at 25. Kendra knows this, always has; she loves it about him. He loves her too, though he probably doesn't tell her enough, because his aversion to talking about _feelings _hasn't gone anywhere, but _he's_ here, isn't he?

She proposed to him, of course, though he's sure he probably would have gotten around to it eventually. Maybe. He's never really thought about it, seriously. The marriage thing. Not that he isn't perfectly happy that they got together again, just over a year ago, right before everything took off very suddenly and the money started pouring in. Even after they broke up in High School, they'd stayed friends. It seems perfectly natural that they picked things up again when they ran into each other.

They fit together. She's hot, and the sex is good and always interesting, and he knows it's not about the money with her. She has her own career in fashion, which is nice, and she's not clingy or high maintenance. There's a familiarity about her that's comfortable, and she puts up with him, and looks after him. All in all, she's kind of perfect for him - even in her flaky, silly moments, and the pet names she still insists on using -which is why he said yes to her proposal. He certainly didn't want to _end _things, and they'd already moved in together, anyway. It was the next logical step.

Even so… marriage hardly seems like a Derek Venturi thing to do. Committing one hundred per cent to one woman, starting a family (well, that can wait a few years), and everything else that goes with having a _wife. _His feet are definitely cold, but he'll go through with it anyway because she looked at him the way she looked at him this morning and, fuck, why the hell not? He's a child of divorce; he knows his options. This might be the biggest mistake of his life, or it might be the best thing he'll ever do. He'll find out one day, and he'll know what comes next. He thinks.

Casey is a bridesmaid. Kendra asked her in front of the whole family over dinner – _"It's tradition to ask the groom's sister, which actually works out nicely because we're friends!" _– and she'd been unable to refuse. Derek saw her hesitation at the beginning, but her control freak ways kicked in soon enough to get her heavily involved with the details of planning a wedding. And, she's walking down the aisle now in a flattering red bridesmaid dress on his friend Kyle's tuxedoed arm. She's beautiful and single, and he knows that most of his friends will hit on her at the reception. He doesn't bother to pretend this doesn't annoy him, and not for any _brotherly _feelings, either.

It's an inevitably whenever they see each other that residual feeling from years gone by will rise again to the surface and they'll be immature teenagers once more. She's his _"what if" _and thus exists in a place where they have to remain stunted, because they can't progress with the big question hovering between them. She'll always be unresolved. Even when every feeling fades, and life removes them from one another's immediate sphere, he'll always wonder.

He winks at her when she takes her place in Kendra's corner, in a smirking fashion, and she glares because she's blushing. Still a blush, now, years later, on his wedding day. Still a glare, because he's able to elicit things from her. Blushes and glares. Significant looks and just-barely tears. Sighs and shouts.

Everything between them is too inappropriate to deal with, and he can't believe his thoughts are taking him there _today_, of all days. He looks at Kendra, now that it's her turn to come down the aisle. She's beautiful and smiling at him, so he smiles back, and he notices tears in the audience – Kendra's mom, Nora, other women in attendance – and some of the bridesmaids are starting to sniffle too. He won't look to see if Casey is one of them. If he sees tears on her face, he'll wonder about all the reasons she's crying.

Later, at the reception, he's a little buzzed. Casey asks to cut in as he's dancing and laughing with Nora, and his stepmother smilingly turns him over to her daughter.

"Derek," she smoothly steps into his arms, at a respectable distance, and smiles, "You've got a great wife; don't screw it up."

"Impossible," he assures her, "the girl's obviously far too in love with me to think of leaving me. I'm golden."

She sighs and rolls her eyes, but she's used to him being an arrogant asshole, so she pushes out and he spins her under his arm.

"In spite of your… _you-ness,_" she says as he pulls her back, "I can tell that you and Kendra are perfect for each other, and I wish you all the happiness you can stand. I mean it. So please just shut up, accept my sincere congratulations, and dance with me."

He wonders why _she's _always the one extending the olive branches every now and then, stripping the hostility away to show a piece of real feeling, or intent, or something entirely mature and… _her._ She's looking at him directly, a certain resolve in her expression, and it's sincere and perfect. He thinks he loves her a little when she's like this, and it doesn't have to have anything to do with the 'what if' – it's just something whole, and affectionate, and familiar.

Even so, if the circumstances were even _slightly _different, he'd kiss her right this instant. Because he can't express things like this with words, and they're better left unsaid anyway. Her hand squeezes his slightly, pulling him away from considerations that _do _make him feel guilty in spite of himself, and the song is ending.

"Thanks for the dance," she tells him as they separate and he notices that there might be a slight catch in her voice.

It makes him flinch, but this is his stepsister, and this is his wedding reception, and she'll always be the things he's never said or done. So he smirks at her.

"I do have a great wife," he says, "But, I wonder why she picked out such slutty dresses for the bridesmaids."

He catches her fist before the punch can connect, and holds on a little longer than is appropriate.

…………………


	3. Chapter 1

…………………

_**Chapter One **_

…………………

"_Touching you makes me feel alive."_

…………………

The first call came on Monday afternoon, through her direct line at work.

"I'm leaving Derek," Kendra's voice was firm and tear-free, just six months after her wedding.

Casey dropped the phone.

"Case? Casey, are you still there? What was that?"

She snapped out of it, caught herself, retrieved the receiver from the floor, "Yes, I'm here. Sorry about that. What were you saying?"

"Well, okay, I'm not _leaving _leaving Derek," the other woman sighed, "I'm just… moving out. Temporarily, until we figure a few things out. I mean after what happened with Kerry – you remember him from college? – and, you know, all the issues with work, and Derek doesn't want to start a family right away, and… well. We haven't talked much since the wedding, have we Casey? Maybe we should have lunch and I'll fill you in? How does Wednesday work for you?"

"… Um." She was studying a picture of her family she kept on her desk, or more specifically, the 24-year-old Derek in the picture. She cleared her throat, "Y-yes. Wednesday is fine. Great. Can you meet me at the office? Perfect. See you then. I _am _sorry to hear this. No, no, I don't think that at all. We'll talk more at lunch. Right. Okay, you take care of yourself too. Bye."

Of course Casey's first impulse when she hung up was to call Derek. Just to find out if he was okay, how he was coping, if he really even cared at all. She wanted to go over there to see that things were alright on his end so she could pick a fight. She wanted to put her head down on her desk and muffle a squeal. She wanted to smack herself, and bang her head against the nearest wall, and write her stupid stepbrother a nasty email – she was always better with written words – and tell him to make his stupid life work for him.

She called Sam instead.

"Have you talked to Derek yet?" she demanded immediately after he answered the third ring.

"Casey?" he was confused, "Uh – just hold on."

A lot of office noises could be heard in the background – keyboards, and phones, and Sam telling somebody that he needed a moment to take this important call – before things became suddenly silent.

"Hey, sorry," he chuckled slightly, nervously, "Uh, is something wrong, Casey? What did Derek do?"

"I don't know," she replied. "But, Kendra just called me to say she's moving out, and I thought maybe Derek had –,"

"She's _what?_"

She sighed, "He hasn't called you."

"No, he hasn't. What do you mean Kendra's moving out?"

"I don't have all the details," she noticed suddenly that she was out of her chair and pacing. "Look, just call your best friend and make sure he's okay, alright? God. I don't believe this."

"Yeah…" Sam sounded troubled, "You're right, I'd better call. I'll talk to you later."

"Sure."

"Oh, Casey?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sure you didn't… it wasn't your… I mean, Derek wouldn't… um."

Casey felt something heavy settling in the pit of her stomach, her pulse fluttered wildly, her face felt hot. She didn't like where this was going. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to scream.

"Sam?"

He sighed, "Never mind. I'll call you tonight."

The rest of day was shot, Casey decided, hanging up the phone; there was no way she could concentrate on work _now. _What had Sam been getting at, exactly? What had Derek discussed with him, or had he noticed something – he wasn't _that _perceptive, was he? She didn't remember him being that way. Actually, she'd known him for years, and he _wasn't _that way. She thought.

Anyway, there was nothing to notice. She rarely saw Derek, and they were what they were whenever they did happen to get together. They argued a lot, or sometimes they were civil, but the distance between them was always tangible and respectable, and it was their weird rapport. It worked. They were family in spite of whatever she felt. _Had _felt. Once upon a time. And it wasn't as though something as silly as passing attraction, _fleeting_ interest, would ever evolve into anything out of their control. The very notion was absurd.

She was beyond that, over their _phase, _happily settled into living without Derek. She liked where she was, didn't even really think of him at all between their encounters, lived in the _now._

She had a great life, by all accounts. A decently paying job in the editorial department at _McAfree & Pedersen -_ one of the most prestigious publishers for texts and educational materials nation-wide. She owned her own home in a quiet, older neighborhood, far from the heart of the city. It was a cute and quaint little house with a fireplace, a fenced in yard, and three bedrooms – the smallest of which she turned into an office.

No roommates, except for her adorable, playful rottweiler. Casey had never really thought of herself as a dog person – though, she'd faked it once for a canine-loving teacher with Derek's help – but her apartment had been broken into last year before she'd moved, and Edwin had talked her into buying the puppy from a friend of his. Bronte was great company around the house, always happy to see her, and very fond of cuddling.

She even had something resembling a social life – just a mild flirtation with a cute guy working at the museum by her office, and the occasional drink with friends, but she had fun. She kept in close touch with her family. She hadn't seen a therapist in two years.

And Derek? Well, he was definitely the more successful of the two of them, and she was sure it really bothered her a lot on some ignored level of her consciousness.

Straight out of film school, he'd received a government grant for his winning proposal; a documentary about cults. He'd actually _joined _one. They'd lost contact with him for close to a year while he infiltrated this weird, local alien-worshipping sect; a sort of mishmash of Scientology and the Raelians.

He kept a video diary of his experiences, and managed to sneak recording equipment into actual ceremonies, and in conversations with other members. When he'd finally had enough – insanity and footage - he left the group and started trolling for meetings with less reticent cult leaders looking for exposure. A few interviews, and a lot of research later, he did what gave the film its irreverent, darkly humorous edge;he started his _own _cult – with all his charisma and magnetism, he was already half way there – as an experiment of sorts, and filmed the results.

The film was a hit at the _Toronto Film Festival, _and then _Sundance _before making its debut in mainstream cinema. Coming off that success, he'd been fielding offers and accepting grants, and building an impressive reputation - particularly for one so young. Currently, he was working on a number of projects with the CBC, and directing a film his friend from college had penned. (An independently produced dark comedy that was already generating a good deal of buzz on the indie circuit.) Derek was pretty much "living the dream."

Well, it had looked that way anyway, with his beautiful wife and picture-perfect home, doing what he loved, basically living happily ever after. But now, Kendra was leaving, and Sam was making weird comments, and she couldn't call him because they didn't _do _phone calls with each other, and… and… _what if?_

No. There were no 'what ifs' these days where they were concerned. There _couldn't _be, and not just because it _had _been a silly phase and she _was _beyond it all. Absence for them made the heart grow acceptant. They were, to each other, what they'd always been and always would be. Nothing more, nothing less.

Right.

She took out her planner and penciled Kendra in for Wednesday. Kendra Venturi. She underlined it twice.

…………………

The second call came on Tuesday, just seconds after she walked through her front door.

"Hey Casey, I'm so glad I caught you! What are you doing right now? I hope you're not busy…"

It was Kendra.

She tossed her keys on the counter and shook her hair out of its upsweep, holding the back door open for the dog.

"No, I just got in," she tried not to sound as weary as she felt. "I was going to walk Bronte, but that can wait for a bit. What's up?"

"This is going to sound awful, and cowardly, and you probably won't want to do it, but I need a favor."

Oh, she was good, Kendra _Venturi - s_he knew how to ask for a favor. With just enough desperation in her tone, just enough self-deprecation, and pessimism in an adorable-sounding package that pretty much guaranteed she'd get a 'yes.' Casey knew before she asked that she was done for.

"What did you need, Kendra?"

"I left some papers at the house," she explained, hurriedly, "They're in my office, right on my desk, next to the computer and I need to have them by Friday, but… I… Well Derek's _there _and, you know, I can't really see him right now. Well, I can. I mean, if I _have _to, but I just have too much going on to deal with it today, and we're getting together tomorrow so…"

Casey hated what she was being asked to do. Loathed it. "You want me to go by the house, get your papers, and bring them to lunch tomorrow?"

"If it's not too much trouble?" her voice was sugary-sweet, earnest even.

"I…" for a moment, she contemplated saying 'no.' It wasn't as though Kendra could be _angry _with her for it. She was tired. She'd worked all day. Derek lived across town. And yet… "Where did you say they were?"

The woman was _handing _her an excuse to go over there, and see things for herself, from his point of view. From her view of him.

"You're the _best, _Casey," Kendra sounded relieved, "I can't tell you how much I appreciate you. Really."

"It's not a big deal."

Casey knew, as her pulse picked up, that she was probably certifiable. She had been asked to do something that would take her out of her way, interfere with existing plans, and probably be generally disagreeable.

So why did she feel _guilty_ for saying yes?

…………………

It took half an hour to get to Derek's house, towards the edge of the city in one of the nicer, upscale areas of Toronto. Casey had called ahead, of course, and Derek had told her in clipped tones to come right inside when she got there. He'd be busy with his equipment, no need to stop by that area of the house to say hi – he was just fine. He promised to see her at George's birthday in two weeks, and that was that.

Of course, she didn't intend to follow theses instructions; it was stupid to drive thirty minutes just to spend two seconds on a ridiculous recovery mission. And anyway, she wanted to talk to him, even though it was certain to be unpleasant.

The door was open as promised when she arrived and she wasted no time collecting the necessary papers from the room Kendra had turned into an office. She stuffed them into a manila envelope she'd brought for the occasion – terminally organized, always planning ahead – and transferred them to her summer-sized purse. Then she headed for the kitchen.

She wasn't overly familiar with Derek and Kendra's home, but she'd been there enough times to know how to get to the important gathering places. And she _was _familiar with Derek's eating habits – at 5:30pm, he was going to be where the food was, no question.

Casey found him exactly where she expected he'd be, and in a close approximation of _how _she'd thought she'd find him. Head stuck in the fridge, back towards her, rummaging around for something to stuff his face - he wasn't picky.

"Want me to cook for you?" she came around the counter to examine the food supply.

"I told you I was fine," Derek's tone was decidedly hostile, albeit muffled. He didn't bother to look at her.

"You did tell me that," she reached past him to retrieve a few cold cuts and condiments, "But you forget I _know _firsthand that you're a liar. Wow, this is cute!"

He finally slid his gaze over to her, raiding his "cute" breadbox. She felt his eyes searing the side of her face, but she was used to being on the receiving end of his glares. This was child's play.

"What are you doing?"

"Making a sandwich, obviously," she smiled, sweetly, "I thought I'd serve myself since a certain obnoxious _step_brother is too rude to offer food to a guest at dinner time."

"Oh, you're all manners, Casey," he rolled his eyes, "Did they teach you to just help yourself to stuff that doesn't belong to you in private school, or was that something you taught yourself?"

"I must have learned it from you," she breezily returned, placing an overloaded sandwich on a plate, "Here."

He was still glaring at her, but he accepted it anyway, and stuffed half of it into his mouth in one go.

"Great," he said through partially chewed food, "You can leave now."

Still disgusting. Probably on purpose, because he knew she hated his slovenly table manners, and he liked to annoy her.

"You're an asshole," she came right out and said it. Abnormally profane. Uncharacteristically calm. Matter-of-fact. She was tired of playing the game, "What happened with Kendra?"

"What happened to you _leaving?_"

His face contorted into something markedly more unpleasant than his usual glower – less mocking, more genuine anger. And he said nothing, took another bite of the sandwich, washed it down with a can of sprite. Ignored her a little bit, scowled some more. She didn't move.

"_Why _are you still here?"

She scoffed, "Derek, if your being an immature jerk about _everything_ was enough to get rid of me, your life would have been a lot easier in High School."

"Oh, you've got that right."

He was sulking. He looked miserable. She wanted it to be her fault, for a million stupid reasons, and hated that she probably had little to do with any of it. Hated that she _still _didn't know what "any of it" was.

"_Why _can't you just tell me what's going on with you?" she demanded, "Why do I have to _barge_ into your home just to argue, and beat around the bush? All we do is drive each other _crazy_ without really _talking,_ or…"

She sighed, stopped herself. She didn't know where she was going with this, or rather, where she _could _go with this and still stay in all their safe antagonism and cheap shots.

But Derek was suddenly facing her with the expression she was very used to. The annoyed, pissed-off, _'I'm-not-getting-what-I-want'_ dirty look of frustration. It seemed he had other ideas.

"Or _what_?" he took a step closer, intimidating, "Or what, Casey? Just say it. For _once_, just _say _something."

She swallowed, felt herself beginning to blush, pushed a piece of hair away from her face. She'd touched up her make-up before she came inside, smoothed down her clothes. She felt suddenly that it must be obvious, she felt naked. His eyes scorched her, held her in place, saw right through her. As usual.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He scoffed, laughed humorlessly, threw his hands in the air, "Oh, of _course _not. You just came here to run a little errand for your good friend, my _wife, _who's just as much of a fucking wuss as my pathetic stepsister."

"Oh right," emboldened with anger, Casey shortened the distance between them now on her own. "And what did you do to scare her away, Derek? Didn't I _tell _you not to screw it up?"

"I'm sure you meant it too," his voice dripped mockery, "And of course it's all my fault, right? It's _my _fault that she met some old college friend, and they had a _connection _and now she's all confused about their little emotional affair."

"What?"

He laughed, "That's right, she didn't even really cheat on me. They just talk about _feelings, _and she can't share something like that with her _husband, _and isn't it just _tragic_?"

"It _is _tragic," she told him, "that even your wife can't get _anything_ out of you. It is."

"Is that what you came here for? To _get something _for Kendra?" he rolled his eyes, "She sent you over on this cute little errand just to tell me how stupid I'm being, right? Give a little _sisterly_ advice?"

"I don't _do _sisterly advice with you," she tossed his stupid expression back at him.

"Right." His eyelids suddenly fell, heavy onto a stare that was becoming uncomfortably probing, "How could I forget? We're supposed to be brother and sister, but it's not like that, is it?"

She flinched. Felt the weight of his accusations, measured and spoken. Put forth impulsively, because he was so fucking _reckless _when control got away from him. And he'd blindsided her, because she'd been confident that he wouldn't touch the things they weren't supposed to touch. She was so damned sure _it_ would stay out of existence, whatever this was, remain some abstract notion. Like it was supposed to.

Which was foolish, really. To think that his skill at lying would make dishonesty a given. To forget that he _chose_ to be honest when the truth was the strongest ammunition.

What was _wrong _with him?

"Derek," she said it in what she hoped was a warning tone, "Don't change the subject."

"Why not, _sis_?" the distance was getting shorter by the second, "I'm _tired_ of the subject. Actually, I'm just tired of talking."

She was tired of talking too, but afraid to stop. Somehow the moment felt too tenuous. Any lapse of conversation would send them spiraling somewhere uncharted and rocky. There was too much out there now to leave naked and hanging.

"Liar," she breathed, "You're such a liar Derek."

"That's you, Case," he stepped forward, maybe a foot between them, probably less. "Diverting, and denying, and ignoring. Everything _I've _said right here is the truth."

"You're not tired of talking," she qualified, watching resolve leaving her, feeling too weak to be snappish, "You love the sound of your own voice."

"_You_ love -," he paused, stared at her, and they were too close, warming each other.

He wasn't going to finish the sentence, she knew, his eyes with their stupidly thick lashes on hers. His expression softening into something she didn't want to see but couldn't look away from.

She thought of science. _Cause and effect_. The relationship between two things when one thing makes something else happen.

He was wearing his hair short again these days, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, all lean muscles and smooth skin.

_Chaos theory_. Attempting to explain and find the underlying order in disorder.

He was not quite a head taller than her, his lips were slightly moist, he smelled of lime and something woodsy.

_Newton's Third Law_. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

And then, terribly, perfectly, his mouth was all over hers. Explosive. A teeth-clashing, tongue-straining kiss of all the repressed feelings and emotionally charged moments they'd stored up for years and years. An outside force pushing them at each other and stirring them together, every abstract notion becoming concrete, every _what if _answered.

_Inertia. _

They rushed through it, no time to waste, to slow down was to think and to think was to stop, and they _couldn't _now. He tore her clothes and she scratched his skin. Need overrode rational, at the pit of her stomach, the core of her being, and she felt him push her, grab her – _oh, the bedroom, the bedroom, __please_ – and it was bittersweet and _painful. _He bit her neck and she dug into his shoulder, and there was no stopping them.

They didn't make it to the bedroom; he took her against the wall.

…………………

There was a cozy little café hiding in the corner of the building that housed the offices of _McAfree & Pedersen_. It was best known for serving breakfast all day long, but they also baked their own bread and always had fresh ingredients for salads and sandwiches. The coffee was to-die-for.

Kendra had passed it when she'd come to get "sister-in-law" and, of course, insisted on eating there for their tête-à-tête on Wednesday. Casey was easily persuaded; she had no preferences. It wasn't as if she was ever going to eat again anyway.

She felt sick.

She was sore and marked, dirty and lacerated. There was a hickey on her neck she was covering with a scarf. She'd found bruises this morning on her ribcage and thighs - his fingerprints. Purple and angry, harsh against pale skin.

Her entire being screamed guilt. She'd done something terrible to her friend, and now they were sitting down together hours later, and she had to tell her, but she could never say it.

_I had sex with your husband. I had sex with my stepbrother. I had sex with Derek._

She was having a hard time meeting Kendra's eyes, hadn't been able to meet Derek's at all. The two of them - never at a loss for some scathing insult or cutting observation, never silent in each other's company - had not exchanged a single word afterwards. _He _had pulled away from her to lean panting against the wall he'd forced her against, perspiring and shielding his eyes with the back of his hand. And Casey had simply put her clothes back together as best as she could, picked up her bag, and walked out of the house without looking behind her.

She'd cried the whole way home. Because something awful had happened. Because it wasn't awful at all.

"So, let's talk about Derek, then." Minutes into the conversation, small-talk discarded. Kendra was looking at her directly.

"Derek," Casey took a long sip of her iced tea. "Right. Derek. Okay, let's talk about him."

"I guess I should tell you about Kerry," Kendra decided, "I mean, we were really good friends in college, remember? We never _did _anything, although he wanted to, but I was with Matt at the time, right?"

Casey nodded, "The Matt years."

She laughed, "Yeah. Anyway, this guy just really… _gets _me. He always has. And I ran into him a couple months back, and we started, you know, having coffee. Harmless, really. At first, anyway. But then, before I knew it, I was telling him things that I've never even told Derek and beginning to really rely on him for emotional support. Like when Darcy got the promotion over me at the office, and when Derek and I started fighting because he doesn't want to have kids right away and I do, and… and, suddenly it was _Kerry _at the top of my speed dial, so to speak. Like, forget Derek, Kerry's the one I want to tell about my day, and just… share the little details of my life with. Not cool, right?"

_I had sex with your husband. _

"N-no… not cool."

"I know," Kendra sighed, "And then Kerry asked me one day why I was even with Derek if I was there with him and telling him these things and not Derek. And he said I should leave Derek for him. I was a little pissed off first, because he had no right to put himself out there that way to a married woman, you know?"

Casey choked on her iced tea.

"Oh my god!" Kendra handed her a napkin, "You okay?"

"Good," she felt like vomiting, "Went down the wrong tube. Go on."

"Right, so anyway, he made me think in spite of myself. And I started considering his offer, and it began to look like maybe it wasn't such a bad offer, and that's when I knew I had to figure things out."

Kendra looked her in the eye, "I love Derek. But, maybe we rushed into the whole marriage thing. Or, I don't know. Either way, I had to tell him everything, and then we decided to take a break and see where we ended up. And here we are."

_I had sex with my stepbrother. Your husband._

Casey looked at the woman across from her - honest, earnest, pouring her heart out. Doing the right thing with a complicated situation. Trusting her with her problems. She'd never felt more ashamed. She'd never been sadder. She wanted to uphold the woman's code and expose her own stupid self for the pitiful traitor she was. She wanted to be kissed, and held, and consoled by her partner in crime. She thought she'd probably implode, removing herself entirely from the equation, so it was all moot anyway.

"So Kendra," she didn't know how she managed to speak, "Where _have_ you ended up?"

"Truthfully?"

"O-of course."

"I miss my husband," she curled a strand of blonde hair around her finger, "I miss Derek."

Casey bit her lip, pushed her drink aside, forced the tears away.

She missed him too.

…………………

The third call came Thursday night just as she was about to go to bed.

"Oh my god," Kendra's voice was elated and bubbly, "I moved back home, and I wanted you to be the first to know."

Casey gripped the receiver for dear life – would _not _drop it now, not for _this _- shut her eyes, "Y-you moved back?"

"Derek and I had a long talk tonight, and I love him so much, and we really want to work things out, and you know it's for the best. Kerry was just, I don't know, a weird anomaly or something. Derek's definitely the one I'm supposed to be with, and we decided I'd come home, and… and you've just been so great for this whole thing, really. You're a good friend to me, Casey. And a good sister to Derek. Thanks for being there."

She took a breath, swallowed the bile rising in her throat, put on a tone that resembled normalcy.

"_Please_ don't thank me Kendra, really. I… this is great! I'm glad things worked out for you guys. Yeah, I know. You really are," she gulped, "perfect for each other. No, no, you can tell him I said so. Right, I'm sure you'll be up late. Ha ha. Well, listen I'm pretty tired, so I'd better let you go. Right. Okay, Kendra, we'll talk soon. Good luck with everything. Goodnight."

Her hand shook as she hung up the phone, her palms sweaty, and she buried her face in her pillow, exhaled, inhaled, tried not to think of anything, tried not feel anything.

Tried to stop crying.

…………………

"_Touching you makes me feel alive;_

_touching you makes me die inside."_

_- Jay Gordon (Orgy)_

…………………

_**TBC**_


	4. Chapter 2

_**A/N: **__Man, this was a fun little break. Let's do it again sometime, shall we? … Thanks for your patience, guys. _

…………………

_**Chapter 2**_

…………………

"_All you mental armor drags me down…"_

…………………

_Derek,_

_I'm glad you were able to work things out with Kendra; it's for the best, isn't it? We had lunch on Wednesday and all she could talk about was how much she missed you… please take care of her. _

_I know I threw myself in the middle of something that was entirely between you and your wife; I won't do it again. How you choose to tell her, or if you do, I'll leave in your hands. _

_I'm sorry._

_- Casey_

…………………

She'd written him a letter, old-fashioned, and had a messenger service deliver it to him on set.

Derek was surprised; he'd expected an email. Something curt and business-like with emotionless congratulations on his happy reunion and a vaguely-worded, but meaning-heavy, sentence alluding to certain "mistakes" that would best be forgotten for the sake of preserving _"all" _relationships.

Sometimes he felt like he knew her completely, inside out, to the point where he could anticipate her every move. Then she'd do something unexpected and he'd be forced to re-examine all the things about her he'd mentally catalogued - the work of years of study.

When he considered it, though, it shouldn't have been unexpected at all. Of course Casey _would_ feel like what had happened between them needed something more… _tangible_ than just words thrown into cyber space. A letter would seem fitting to her, the sentimental type, who'd find more _feeling _present in the stroke of a pen than the click of a keyboard. It was everything that was sincere, and brave, and romantic about her.

And effective. Derek could definitely see, in the shaky quality of her penmanship, how painful it had been for her to write. The deep wistfulness beside the bittersweet warmth of her words.

He didn't know how long it took for her to work through all the anger and the impulse to blame him (she always did if she could), but he had suspected she'd probably come around to blaming herself eventually. At the very least, just as the result of her condescending approach to the idea of his basic morality (that _he _would do something unethical was a given, but _she _should naturally be above such things). But also because she was not the terrible person he supposed she felt herself, at present, to be. This was her _again_ extending the proverbial olive branch with vulnerable hands to be the first to step towards acceptance and forgiveness. She was so imperfect in spite of herself, deeply flawed, but she redeemed herself over and over. Stubbornly.

So he read her letter, twice, before tucking it away in his pocket absentmindedly. He felt how upsetting it would be for her to think he'd treated it casually after such an effort. And he was able to be kind to her when she wasn't around to witness it.

He was also, apparently, capable of a lot more towards her than even he had suspected of himself. _Sex_ with his _stepsister_. Frantic, rushed, biting, tearing, leave-the-clothes-on, Nine Inch Nails _Closer _sex. _'My whole existence is flawed; you get me closer to God.' _He wanted to regret it, and he did in a way that wasn't really remorseful at all. The act itself, the thing he _should _feel sorry for, he didn't; his regret was saved for the impossibility of it ever happening again.

He'd already decided not to tell Kendra. He knew keeping something of that magnitude from her was ostensibly wrong, he did, and he felt like an asshole. But, the fact was that he simply _could not _actually bring himself to say it out loud. For a million reasons that were all selfish, and humiliating, and wrapped up in Casey and everything about them that was _just theirs_ for all its fucking insanity. He didn't want their subtext to exist for other people, wanted to keep it locked between them, an unspoken substitute for the reality they couldn't feasibly have.

Thursday night, he'd come home to find his wife seated on the living room floor, wine glass in one hand, their wedding photo in the other. She'd talked of their history, the friendship they'd formed after their first big break-up, mutually sustained by just how _alike _they were. Their lives seemed so parallel, and if they were headed in the same direction, they'd always be beside one another.

Derek had been poised to tell her that he'd suspected all along that he wouldn't be great at the whole marriage thing. But she'd beat him to it, said it of herself and added that they'd just have to learn together, wouldn't they? She didn't want to lose him, not without at least fighting for him – them – first. They were only six months in to the whole arrangement; it couldn't be the end!

All she wanted was a clean slate, forget Kerry, and cold feet, and whatever else. Could they start fresh?

Derek was used to getting what he wanted. The Universe had always been kind to his whims and desires, and what it failed to give him, he won for himself with his easy charm. _The Venturi Charm, _his dad called it, but what George wielded with adorable awkwardness, and Edwin with winking smarminess, was a true force in Derek's capable hands.

And yet, for too many reasons to list, he very obviously couldn't "have" Casey. She should have stayed the 'what if' she had seemed destined to always be. His wife was the one he was allowed to – _supposed to _– love.

So, he gave her the clean slate she'd asked for, sweeping every mark and blemish aside, leaving stark whiteness behind like a newly painted wall between them. Parallel lines do not intersect.

…………………

By Sunday, Derek was ready to chalk the past week up to an aberrant fluke.

His life had changed drastically in a matter of days before very abruptly snapping back to what he'd come to know as normal. There were a few outbursts, a few emotional scenes (the type he was loathe to be part of), and then… Saturday. Waking up with his wife beside him, and making breakfast together, and going out to dinner as though they were still content newlyweds with only their new life together between them. As if the last week had never happened.

He'd lazily pushed himself deeper under the covers earlier that morning when Kendra left, anticipating a lazy, stress-fee day. She had brunch with her best friend every week, which usually turned into hours of shopping and all that "girly-girl" gossipy stuff some women couldn't live with out. Which left him to his own, junk-food-y, sweatpants-ed devices. He was more than happy to plant himself on his recliner in front of the plasma screen and forget himself for awhile.

And then the doorbell rang.

Casey brushed past him as soon as he opened the door; fidgety, nervous energy and last week _had _happened after all.

"Are you alone?" she asked in clipped tones.

She was working herself up into one of her states, flushed cheeks and hairs out of place, eyes flashing and hands shaking. He smirked in return, the instant her question sunk in for _her. _It carried very suspicious, sordid connotations, and she paused for a moment to look embarrassed.

Aware of his upper hand, Derek seized the opportunity to lean in a bit, just at the fringes of her personal space, "Yes."

"Good," she thrust something at him, "then you can explain this."

The item in question was her letter. He'd attached a post-it to the front before sending it back to her, a simple message in messy printing; _'Can't keep it.' _The obvious implication being that he wouldn't destroy it either, which he'd thought was annoyingly decent of him.

But Casey had apparently picked up on other implications, "You're not going to tell Kendra."

He stared calmly at her in response, mentally working through the logistics of getting her out of the button-up top she was wearing. Not that he intended to put said planning into place; he just couldn't help himself sometimes. Picturing her naked was one of the best ways to tune her out when she started getting shrill.

"De-rek!" she glared, as though reading his mind, "You _have _to tell her."

Discarding his fantasies with a sigh, Derek returned his attention to the letter. He adopted a mock-orator pose with one hand on his chin, holding the paper in front of him at a pretentious distance.

"I'll leave it in your hands," he read aloud, fixing her with a pointed look.

"Yeah, well your _hands _are shaping up to be rather clumsy!"

"You didn't seem to think so when-,"

"_SHUT UP!_" she shouted, advancing a step, "you _unbelievable _bastard, don't _even _start. This isn't a joke."

Derek, for all his composure, instinctively took a step back at the sudden outburst. Clearly, she was far more pissed off than he'd thought.

"Do you see me laughing?" and he was starting to catch it, her anger, "I don't get it, Casey, why the hell do you want me to tell Kendra? I thought you, of all people, would prefer to just forget the whole thing."

"This isn't about what I want," she returned, "It's about _you _being honest with your wife. She deserves to know the truth."

"Why?"

"_Because_…" she paused, "Because it's the right thing to do!"

Typical.

"You're going to stand here and talk to me about The Right Thing _now_?" unsurprised as he was, he still had to ask, "So, I tell Kendra, and then what? Huh? The only thing that changes is that she's miserable. Is that what you want?"

She opened her mouth, closed it, pursed her lips. Of course that wasn't what she wanted.

"Anything to clear your conscience, though, right?" He laughed again, smugly, "It must be killing you to be without that precious moral superiority you're so fond of always flaunting."

She flinched at that, and Derek was sorry for a moment, until she met his eyes again with an expression that was more angry than hurt.

"Do you really think," she seethed, "that your marriage will last this kind of lie?"

"What difference does it make to you?" he ran an agitated hand through his hair, "Why did you even send that fucking letter if you were going to turn around two days later and stick your nose in everything you said you were going to back off of?

"Because, like it or not, I _am _involved in this. I feel responsible!" she cried, "And… and not telling Kendra isn't just wrong, it's the easy way out."

"But you _don't_ want her to know," he caught her, "Not really. You're just _retreating_ to your ethical sanctuary, because all the answers are neatly lined up for you in that textbook way you couldn't live without. Well good for you, but that's not _my life. _Get it?"

"No!"

"Too bad then," he folded his arms across his chest, "but you're going to have to deal with it anyway. My marriage, my life, _my_ problem. Not yours."

Casey deflated slightly in front of him, gaze falling to the floor, "She's my friend."

"And I'm your _brother._"

He threw the word out there like an insult, taunting her, and her eyes snapped back to meet his with renewed fury. She was an easy target, susceptible to every piece of bait he offered, and he knew all the things to say to make her crazy, every button to push. He could write a guide.

"That's what makes this whole situation so much _worse _than your typical… your typical…" she threw her hands in the air, exasperated, "It's ridiculous! The idea of… of _us_, like this, was purely hypothetical! It stayed safely in our peripheral vision for years! This was never supposed to actually happen!"

Derek raised an eyebrow, "Are you sure?"

She stared, "Am I…? Yes! Yes. God, _yes, _I'm sure. What are you _talking _about?"

"Come _on_," he rolled his eyes, "How many years have we been playing this stupid game? Under any other circumstances, we would have-,"

"The _only _circumstances that matter, Derek, are the present," she sighed. "And anyway, even if everything about… even if everything was what it should be, you and I would never work. Even if we weren't related-,"

"By marriage!"

"Even if we weren't _step_siblings, we're still completely incompatible. We have _nothing _in common, we fight all the time, our personalities don't compliment one another at all. There's no way we could work in _any _Universe. No, this _definitely_ should _not _have happened."

"_Classic_ Casey," Derek, who didn't even know _why_ he was attempting to argue her point now, but for the sake of it, sneered. "We're not by-the-books compatible in that cold, factual sense, so your freakish, Type A little mind just can't grasp how we could _ever _work. Don't you ever get sick of yourself?"

She huffed, "You just don't-,"

"I _get it_," he interjected with more feeling than he generally cared to exhibit. He didn't know why her words bothered him so much, but he was starting to lose control, "The _fact_ is that I just had you up against my kitchen wall and _begging _for what you now say shouldn't have happened. The _fact_ that we're _stepsiblings_ didn't stop it, and neither did the minor issue of my _marriage_, so fuck compatibility. That obviously means _something_."

"I…" she was shaking all over now, from rage or weakness, or a combination of the two.

He expected her to storm off, but she was just as stubborn as he was, and he watched her begin to recover herself. Her quivering fists clenched as she took a deep breath, and loosened with her exhale. She steadied herself, smoothed down the front of her shirt in a very deliberate, slow manner, and looked somewhere over his shoulder.

"I didn't expect _you _of all people to suddenly turn wishy-washy," her tone was steel, "_That _was just sex."

This was what he'd initially expected from her, what he'd thought she'd put in the email she never sent. But here it was now, all the cool, business-like anti-sentiment, finally. Too late, though, because too much had already been said that was at odds with her new tone. Because her voice was hitting all the right notes, but her expression faltered, and her eyes were entirely vulnerable. She'd never mastered the art of bravado the way he had.

"Exactly. Just sex. It wasn't enough..." he swallowed, pushed himself into her line of vision again, "…To change anything."

She looked at him, confused, "It changed everything."

"Only for us," he explained, "And it was just a one-time thing that happened while I was _technically_ separated from Kendra. She moved out to give herself some "space to figure things out," remember? I don't even know what she did about, or _with, _that Kerry guy, or any guy. I didn't ask, she didn't volunteer any info, and it doesn't matter because we're moving on. _She _wanted it that way. I think her exact words were _clean slate._"

Casey was silent for a moment, and he let himself believe for a few seconds that he had silenced her on the matter for good. She was definitely calmer anyway, coming away from all her righteous indignation and fury to something softer, and sadder. She looked lost, trying to reclaim whatever brought her here to begin with, but unable to see it.

He thought she might cry, and something in the pit of his stomach lurched, an unconscious, protective instinct that wanted her in his arms and smiling. She bit her lip instead, drawing his eyes to her mouth and he found himself idiotically moving closer…

"When we had lunch the other day," lips moved slowly with carefully measured words, "Kendra-,"

He clamped his hand over her mouth, and she remained surprisingly motionless as he drew even nearer, "I don't need to know."

She nodded, just barely, and he released her, fingers brushing softly over her cheek as he withdrew. But then suddenly, he was leaning into her again, drawn forward by some unseen force, like the last time, but less urgent. He was... going with the flow, following an impulse that didn't really seem to be in any hurry. It was a lull - the eye of the storm - and this was their sanctuary, the two of them at an impasse that could only lead them to what was lately proving to be inevitable. And he was simply... falling. Towards her in a quiet, trance-like state, while she waited for him, perfectly still…

"Derek," she breathed just before their lips met, quiet and careful, tentative.

And then, louder, "Are you going to put this on your clean slate?"

_Fuck. _

He retreated, the moment gone just like that, and he blinked to shake it off. That weird, drugged feeling. The haze of whatever the hell he'd just been caught up in. _Her. _His annoying, shrill, self-righteous, neurotic stepsister. There had been something, just then, that had nothing to do with lust or attraction, or anything physical. Not for the first time. It wasn't "just sex" with them, and never could be because look at how pitifully entangled they were. It was enough to make him want to punch something, hard, but he resigned himself - a little - instead.

"Maybe we should have dealt with this a long time ago," he said, surprised at the sincerity in his own tone, "Got it out of our system in high school when we could have left it at… hormones, or something."

"I thought you'd be out of my system after we… after Tuesday," Casey told him, matching his sincerity, ready to be honest, "but you're more _in _my system now than ever before. I was… I had my life just last week, and I was _fine, _but _now _I can't… stop… you're all I think about. Every night when I go to sleep, every morning when I wake up, and I just can't _take _it!"

Derek froze; she was starting to cry.

"I'm a mess," she sobbed, "I don't know what to do, and it's all… _you_, and your stupid universe and life was finally not revolving around you anymore and… and… I just… hate you. I hate you so much!"

"Uh," he fidgeted, her tears completely disorienting him because he _still _couldn't deal with a crying female, even as an adult. But there was returning anger cutting through the waterworks, and he seized it, something he could handle, "R-right back atcha."

"I _mean _it," she glared.

"I know."

"I hate you," she repeated, "You're so _smug, _and you just _know _the whole world adores you, and you… you _swagger _and I could just… just _strangle _you with my bare hands."

Without really thinking about it, and somewhat desperate for her to stop crying, he grabbed her wrists and brought her hands to his neck. Her fingers closed around his throat automatically, but gently, thumbs resting carefully at his pulse point. He could feel it race against her touch, and she exhaled shakily. It was something like acceptance, maybe just for a moment, because she was growing quiet again. Their eyes locked, up close, and her lashes were wet, her lids puffy, but she was so... _Casey, _he was being drawn right back in.

"Will it always come to this?" she whispered tiredly, even as she pulled him towards her.

"If you - _door._"

She blinked, almost dreamily, "Door?"

He pushed away from her, noting for the first time that they were still standing together in the front hallway, and the doorknob was turning, probably because the lady of the house was home. Casey caught on quick, and abruptly turned away to collect herself. And by the time Kendra came inside to find them there, they were at a respectable, if guilty, distance.

"Hey Kendra," Derek greeted her with a normal tone at odds with Casey's obvious distress, "We were just-,"

"I know," Kendra glanced worriedly at her sister-in-law, "fighting, right? You guys just never stop going at it, do you?"

He grimaced, "Who knew sibling rivalry extended so strongly into adulthood, huh?"

"Who knew," his wife dryly repeated. "Are you okay, Casey? You look like you've been crying…"

"Oh," she wiped at her eyes, "it's nothing. Derek was just pushing the usual buttons. Anyway, I should get going… um, I guess I'll see you guys at George's birthday next week."

"The big five-oh," Derek waved his hand, "Wouldn't miss it."

"Sorry, you have to leave so soon after I got home," Kendra said, "I'll call you later?"

"Sure," Casey pushed a smile onto her face with some obvious effort, "I'll talk to you later, then. Um, bye Derek."

She wasted little time racing out the door, moving as though _fleeing _a crime scene. Even Kendra noticed.

"That must have been some fight," she observed, "Would it kill you to be nicer to her, Der?"

"Why doesn't anybody ever say, _Would it kill you to be nicer to Derek, Casey_?"

"You're so hard done by," she rolled her eyes, "Anyway, forget that. What's this about your dad's birthday? You didn't tell me there was going to be a party."

"I'm sure I mentioned it."

"You didn't, and I had no idea he was turning _fifty,_" she shook her head, "The present I was planning to send won't do at all, I'll have to go shopping – it's a big deal – remind me to call Nora later to find out what I can help with. _Oh, _and maybe we should bring something for Marti, too, since we haven't been back home for a few months and she's probably feeling neglected. I know she's not a child anymore, but still, it's the gesture that counts, right? And, let's see…"

Slightly overwhelmed – she _was _a good girl – Derek found himself slipping an arm around his wife's shoulder, to kiss her forehead just because he couldn't find the right words. Because he couldn't say he was sorry.

…………………

"Nora, hi," Derek was on the cordless in the kitchen, after dinner that evening, "I'm fine… Yeah, the movie's going well – haha, right, nothing crazy after that episode. Right, right. And how are things with you? Glad to hear it. Well, listen, that's actually what I wanted to talk about… I just don't know if my schedule will allow me to, uh, come."

"Derek," Nora easily shifted from her light-hearted chatting tone to The Mom Voice, "You are _not _backing out of your father's fiftieth birthday party."

"I wouldn't if it wasn't important."

"We've been planning this for the last month," Nora very reasonably reminded him, "You already told me that you'd be able to make it, no problem. What's changed?"

"Just… you know, movie stuff," Derek hated how vague he was coming across, "It's a very unpredictable line of work you know."

"Uh-huh," she was unconvinced, "this wouldn't have anything to do with Casey, would it?"

_Busted!_

"What?" he laughed, "Of course not! Why would it?"

"Well, wouldn't you know it, I just got off the phone with her before you called. Lucky me," dry, parental, your-so-full-of-shit mode engaged, "to have _two _kids phone home in one day, and within minutes of each other! _And,_ what a coincidence, for the very same reason. Almost spooky, isn't it?"

"Almost," he absentmindedly agreed, "So… Casey's not coming, huh?"

"She thought she wasn't," Nora said, "But I managed to persuade her with the same reasons I'm about to use to persuade _you _to come."

"But-,"

"Derek," now she was perfectly serious, "I know you're all grown up now, and I know that in spite of that, you and Casey still have the tendency to get on each other's nerves. But, we've always been a close family, and even though your father isn't looking forward to turning fifty, he _is _anticipating having _all _his children there to celebrate with him. I think that's the least you can do. Never mind the fact that Marti has already been told that you're going to be there and she's already planning all the ways she'd going to talk you into letting her come to Toronto for a few weeks this summer."

Derek smiled slightly; what a brat.

"So," Nora concluded, "I'll see you Saturday, right?"

He sighed, "Yes."

"Good. I didn't want to have to tell your wife on you."

He laughed at that and, seeing said wife enter the kitchen, "She wanted to talk to you, by the way, do you still have a minute?"

"I have an hour," the return of the dry tone because his stepmother _knew _Kendra.

"Perfect," he handed the phone over to its _true _owner, "It's Nora."

… And had it snatched eagerly out of his hands.

Derek didn't stick around to hear the onslaught of high-energy chatter that was bound to follow, retreating to the living room where the TV was waiting.

But he couldn't concentrate on it, mind otherwise engaged with too many other things. Casey, specifically, and how the hell they were supposed to act around each other in front of their family this weekend. He thought of her earlier, shouting, and pissed off, and crying. How she'd felt pressed between him and the wall, gasping into his mouth. The way she'd looked wounded, and lost, and angry while she told him she couldn't stop thinking about him.

_He_ couldn't stop thinking about _her. _

Before he knew what he was doing, he had his cell phone out of his pocket, her phone number at his fingertips.

She waited until the ninth ring to answer, and he knew she hated that she'd even answered at all, "What do you want, Derek?"

"You," he replied automatically, irritably banging the back of his head against his recliner the moment he realized what he had said.

"Stop it," she commanded, "_God. Why _are you doing this?"

"I don't know."

Silence. For thirty agonizing seconds.

"What," she finally found her voice again, "What are we supposed to do with this?"

"I don't know."

"Why can't we just leave each other alone?" her voice catching.

"I don't know."

"I hate you," obviously crying now, "Please… just let me… just… I hate you."

"I know."

She'd told him, over the years so many times, and the words were somehow never really what she wanted them to be.

She hated him.

And he knew that this was a placeholder, just like he knew that she meant it.

…………………

"_All your mental armor drags me down;_

_Nothing hurts like your mouth…"_

_- Bush_

…………………


End file.
